I imagine the following: since the universe is infinite, therefore it’s like a huge library of babel for galaxies - every kind of galaxy exists, with infinite habitable planets. Therefore an infinite number of solar systems exist just like ours, with very little differences.

So there must be an inifinte number of planets that are very similar to our planet. In my imagination, I always pick one of them, which has an identical history to our Earth, up until 2002. The planet has identical people, so there is a Joss Whedon on it (that version of him has a cell in his body at a different place than the one here), he creates Firefly, and the history of the two planets begin to change here: FOX doesn’t cancel it, and it runs for 10 seasons. I find comfort in the thought that somewhere in the vast infiniteness of space, there should be a world where browncoats like me can enjoy the brilliance that is Firefly in it’s originally intended form.

I always smile at the sky at night when I get to this part in my imagined scenario. And I smile a little more, when I realize, that infinite possibilities mean that somewhere in space, very, very far from here, there should be a real Serenity out there, piloted by Wash, who is playing with his dinosaurs right now. And they keep on flyin’.

Infinity is a shiny thing.